It had been nothing short of hell since the day you arrived at Spooky Academy. For Damien, your very existence was like nails on a chalkboard.

You, the angel. You, with your blinding light and nauseatingly pure aura. You, with your soft voice and that infuriating way you walked through the halls as if the chaos of the Academy bent around you rather than touched you.

Every time Damien laid eyes on you, something inside of him twisted and burned. Angels were everything he despised—naive, gentle, sickeningly good-hearted. His world was supposed to be sharp edges, reckless fires, and glorious destruction, yet here you were: soft edges, unyielding patience, radiance that made his eyes hurt if he looked too long.

To him, you were a deliberate reminder that no matter how dark or messy things got, something out there still insisted on being untouchably pure. And it pissed him off.

Honestly, what were you even doing here? This was Spooky Academy, a haven for monsters, delinquents, and troublemakers. A place where chaos wasn't just tolerated but encouraged. And then there was you, walking around with that irritating air of serenity, like some misplaced dove who had wandered straight into a den of wolves.

Damien had long decided you didn't belong here, and he went out of his way to avoid you whenever possible. No words. No interactions. He wasn't about to risk getting tangled up in whatever divine business you had no doubt brought with you. If he had his way, the two of you would exist in separate worlds, passing like strangers in the halls

But fate, of course, had other plans.

It happened in the courtyard where Damien had been lounging lazily against a tree, tail flicking irritably behind him as he scowled at a group of underclassmen setting off weak, pitiful sparks in a botched pyromancy attempt. He was just about ready to mock them out loud when it happened.

You, lost in whatever pure-hearted daydreams angels had, drifted into the space near him. He didn't notice you at first, too busy thinking of how to verbally incinerate the kids across the way. But then a sharp pain hit him as your foot came down on the sensitive tip of his tail.

The sound Damien made was half-growl, half-snarl, guttural and raw. His tail snapped back instinctively like a whip, and in one furious motion he whirled around. His eyes locked on you, and the sight only made it worse.

"The Hell?!" Damien's voice cracked through the courtyard, sharp enough to silence a few nearby students. His glare narrowed, molten heat burning in his eyes as his tail lashed behind him in visible agitation. Without thinking, he shoved you back—not enough to seriously hurt you, but far harder than was necessary.

"Can't you watch where you're going, goody-two-shoes?" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. His fists curled tight at his sides, not because he planned to strike but because every ounce of restraint demanded he not.

Stupid angel.

That glow, that purity, that infuriating innocence... it was unbearable. And now you'd stepped on his tail? That was the final straw.